A political rally.
As Kenya inches toward the 2027 elections, politicians face a choice as old as human nature itself: listen to the people and adjust, or stubbornly continue down a road that leads to political extinction. Politics, unfortunately, is not played in heaven “as it ought to be.” It is played here on earth “as it is” — unforgiving and brutally honest on Election Day.
There is an Igbo proverb made famous in Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe: “A man who does not know where the rain began to beat him cannot say where he dried his body.” Wise politicians study where the rain started. Fools merely complain about the flood after the house has already floated away.
In 2022, UDA swept through parts of Kenya with the force of a biblical whirlwind. Defying the political mood then was like trying to stop a charging bull using parliamentary procedure.
But politics has no permanent tenants. Public opinion is like smoke: impossible to hold with bare hands. Today’s hero can become tomorrow’s cautionary tale faster than tea cools in Limuru.
And the signs are already visible.
Sharp political observers can sense shifting moods in parts of the country. The political ground is moving quietly beneath our feet. Yet some leaders continue behaving like passengers asleep in a bus whose brakes failed somewhere near Salgaa. They mistake temporary silence for permanent agreement. But silence is dangerous. Even in families, silence rarely means peace. Sometimes it simply means people are tired of arguing.
Foolish husband
A wise husband notices when his wife becomes unusually quiet. He asks questions. He listens. A foolish husband assumes everything is fine because there is no shouting, only to discover later that the marriage died months earlier and burial arrangements are already underway emotionally. Leadership, whether in homes or nations, begins with listening before collapse becomes visible.
That is where political kamikaze begins: the refusal to hear.
During the Second World War, Japan deployed kamikaze pilots who deliberately flew explosive-filled aircraft into enemy ships. Their missions were one-way journeys. No return ticket. Some were driven by patriotism. Others by pressure. Others by desperation disguised as courage. Politics later borrowed the metaphor.
A political kamikaze is a leader who embraces a path almost guaranteed to destroy his career while convincing himself that applause from insiders equals support from ordinary citizens. Some do it for principle. Others do it because praise has intoxicated them beyond recovery. nd praise can be fatal.
Even a village rooster begins walking like a peacock if enough people clap for it.
History is full of leaders who confused fear with loyalty and visibility with invincibility. In 2013, Isaac Ruto was elected as Bomet Governor.
In 2015, he became Council of Governors chair.
He became powerful. He then set in motion a political path that collided with the regional party and he lost.
He is yet to recover his mojo to this day. Maybe the gods will smile for him in 2027.
Alfred Keter is another Nandi political Kamikaze. I met him in the 2013 presidential tallying centre at CUEA in Nairobi as a freshly elected young MP. He muttered words, "Rift Valley has delivered presidency to Mt Kenya region. Mt Kenya must never betray Rift Valley".
10 years later in parliamentary corridors, I was suprised how he had become a strident anti- UDA MP despite Mt Kenya- Rift valley political marriage. He defected at the last minute to UDA as 2022 approached. Only for UDA to punish him through "manoeuvring ".
Unfunded tax
Liz Truss entered office as UK Prime Minister armed with ideological certainty and unveiled massive unfunded tax cuts despite warnings from economists, markets and even allies. She behaved like a lady, ignoring smoke in the kitchen because dinner had not yet burned completely. Forty-nine days later, her government collapsed with such speed that a supermarket tomato became more politically durable than her administration.
Even Scripture warns leaders against arrogance. King Rehoboam inherited Solomon’s kingdom and sought advice on governing the people. Elders advised humility. Younger courtiers advised toughness and chest-thumping. Rehoboam chose the praise singers. The kingdom split almost overnight. A leader who only listens to applause eventually hears the loudest silence of all: the ballot box.
And praise singers are dangerous companions. They can convince a politician that a sinking canoe is merely “undergoing temporary water challenges.” In every government, there are individuals whose full-time occupation is clapping vigorously while the roof collapses behind them.
Families understand this danger better than politicians sometimes do.
A mother notices when her teenage son suddenly avoids dinner conversations, locks himself in his room and answers questions with one-word responses. A wise parent adjusts early. A foolish one dismisses it as “just a phase” until rebellion explodes publicly. By the time doors are slammed, the problem began long ago.
Politics works exactly the same way.
Citizens whisper before they shout. First comes discomfort. Then murmuring. Then frustration. Finally comes the ballot box, where voters preach sermons without microphones.
Some political Kamikaze think development will save them. This is the uncomfortable truth many leaders avoid: development alone is not enough once the political wind blows.
A politician may build roads, hospitals and markets, but if wananchi get into the electoral frenzy, they remove him while happily driving on the very roads he constructed to attend his opponent’s rally. Human beings vote emotionally first and logically later. Even children rarely remember only what parents bought them; they remember how they were treated.
Ask the late Julius Kiano in Kiharu 1979 elections. He had provided piped water to almost every household, only for Matiba wave to sweep him with the people retorting "water is not milk".
Dr Kang’ata is the Governor for Murang’a County. Email [email protected]
